Heartbreak: My Story
by Calculated Artificiality
Summary: What is Heartbreak? It's knowing your life can never be the same, that you can never be the same. Romano POV This is his story. Cordano COMPLETED.
1. What is Heartbreak?

Please review—I would appreciate it more than you know... my nose is broken and I would love it if you let me know what you think about this! : )

Natalie

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Heartbreak.

What is it?

It's losing something, no doubt—but often times, heartbreak occurs over a period of time—and one day, we wake up and realize that our heart has been shattered into a million pieces.

And it is then that we realize that nothing can be done. It is then that we realize that our life, our existence here on this earth, has been and will be a total waste.

Sometimes, yes, love does last—but most of the time it goes away—it ends, leaving a bitter taste and remnants of passion left behind, and an ache that protrudes even the happiest of moments.

There are always fairytales, of love lasting until the end of time, "happily ever after" they call it—but no, in the real world, in the now, in the present time, happily ever after ends—it's not forever.

Pain is a part of life—a part of the game—it comes with the territory. If you want to be alive, you're going to have to endure pain, that's just the breakdown of it all. And the worst pain, the most horrendous type of pain is the pain that makes the heart break. Because, though the rumors have been spread, the lies told throughout the world—there is no way to mend a broken heart. That, too, is impossible. How can you undo the shattering of the very life which you breathe? You can't—however pessimistic that may seem, it's realistic, it's the truth—broken hearts don't heal. They never have, and they never will.

Images of a heart with a band-aid placed strategically upon it have circulated for years—feeding the fire, the absolute _illusion_, that says hearts can be made whole again. But it's false—all of it is falsehood. Once you lose a part of yourself—once your heart tears in two, or more pieces—you will never be the same again.

And people will ask you how you've been—and you will answer them steadily with a "fine", or an "okay" or occasionally a "good." But it's not true—you're not fine, you're not okay, and you're never good—and the sad truth is that you never will be.

Yet another impossibility that comes with the territory.

Sure, you may convince yourself that you can love again, and in remote cases, you can—but you're never the same—no matter how hard you try to convince yourself that you are, the fact remains that you're not.

Your smile dulls a little with each passing day, your eyes grow dimmer with each passing hour, and your tears grow heavier with each passing minute—you cry all the time—inside, you cry.

And the worst part of it is: the tears will never stop. You'll never be able to stop the flow of the tears that sent you spiraling into your current state—the salty taste will always be in your mouth—the hurt will always be in your heart.

You can laugh—but that, too, is not the same. Laughing, an act which you once found so fun, so lively, has become a chore—something you never want to do again—but yet, you do it, to be polite—to be courteous—and you hate every minute of it.

Your spirit, which everyone once said was so lively, so pure, so unadulterated, and so magnetic—dies. It dies along with the glint in your eye, along with your naïveté, along with any prior notion that you had that said the world could be anything but cold and cruel and mean and scathing.

Your hopeful dreams are replaced with chilling nightmares—and you always remember what it was to be happy—that's something you can never forget. But you are constantly plagued with the knowledge that true happiness is something you can never again have, because now you know that the world is not a place in which to rejoice—it is a place in which sorrow and hurt will always prevail, no matter what.

You're struck with pain, and remembrance that you never wanted to have—that you never asked to have—that you would die to give back—but yet, it's always there. The gnawing notion that love screwed you over—that love took your life away—that love, the kind they speak of in the movies, where rainbows and butterflies prevail—doesn't exist.

You slowly begin to associate hatred with love—and love with pain. For now, pain is all you know—pain is all you see—pain is all you hear—and you know, deep down inside, you know, that it is all you will ever know.

Because sometimes, it does cost too much to love—you know that now—you know so much now.

You know that smiles aren't promises, and hugs aren't contracts.

That is what heartbreak is.

It's a slow descent into depression—a depression so dark and deep that it is impossible to climb out. Heartbreak is watching yourself suffocate not being able to do a thing to stop it—heartbreak is what you will never live down, is what you will never get over, is what you will never move past—because it rocks you to the core—it changes your foundation—it crushes your soul.

And sometimes, if you're lucky—you can ease the pain enough to continue living, and once in a blue moon, you can move on, you can hold on while letting go, you can learn to live, and you can try to love....

Sometimes you can make the past dim in the recesses of your mind—lost but not forgotten—

Because heartbreak rocks you to the core—changes your foundation—makes you into someone you never thought you'd become...

And this...

This is my story.

TBC

PLEASE REVIEW!!!

I have a broken nose (tear) and nothing would give me greater pleasure than to read reviews from y'all!

With love,

Natalie


	2. From the Beginning

Time to revisit this story!!! Enjoy, and review if you have the time!

Natalie

pmcfan- While I respect and appreciate and somewhat agree with your opinion on my characterization of Romano, I would just like to clarify why I am writing Romano like this for this story: For how many years was Romano in love with Lizzie? For how many seasons did he have strong feelings for her? And how many times did he come out and blatantly say he loved her? _That _is the Romano about which I am writing. : )

Just clarifying! : ) Thank you, again!

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It was a sunny day in September when my world shattered, leaving me alone in the universe. That is the very irony that is me—such utter contradiction on so many varying levels.

I was transformed by love, changed completely from the man that I once was. I was pulled, miraculously, from the despair in which I had wallowed for so long. I had struggled for what seemed like eternity, and one day, everything changed. I can't explain it, other than to say that it was magical, the kind of feeling that everyone will try to describe, but will inevitably fail at.

My heart had never felt so full, so alive, so promising. I had never felt so cared for, so needed, and I had never in my life felt so wanted. The entire experience was something new altogether. No one had ever _wanted_ me before, I mean, not really. I'd never experienced that kind of love, that kind of trust, and that kind of happiness.

Perhaps I should start at the beginning: the date is not important. We met at work, of course, the place where I once spent most of my time. I had admired her from afar for quite some time, enamored of her in every way.

She had that light about her, that certain thing that draws souls to her. She couldn't help it, and I couldn't help falling for her, no matter how hard I tried. Her eyes seemed to comfort the rage I once held inside of me, though she knew nothing of the sort.

She didn't know what a tortured soul I had once been, she didn't know what a mess of a man I had been—but somehow, she did know. She knew my armor was thick, but that my skin was thin—she knew, and that is why I fell in love with her.

I'd never been seen as a human being before, and this was the first time anyone had ever tried to understand me. Of course, I pushed her away, pretended I didn't care—but I did. Deep down I cared so much for her that it hurt me when I would leave her presence without saying the words "I love you." I might not seem like a man of such capability, but I promise you I am...was. With her I was everything I knew I could be: everything I'd ever wanted to be.

And even all of that isn't enough to describe what I felt, just how much I felt for this incredibly amazing woman.

She didn't change me altogether, I won't pretend that she did, but she did bring the real me, the me I'd kept hidden for so long to the surface—and she made me feel like I never had before.

We danced around the issue for years, or rather, I danced and she watched amusedly as I tried to tap-dance around my true feelings, pretending she wasn't more to me than a friend. But, that unfortunately is my style.

I will never forget the day it happened. I couldn't forget even if I tried with all of my might. It was a normal day, jam-packed with business that needed to be attended to. She came into the surgical lounge, looking for me. She told me she had found a man, some architect or something, and that she was considering marriage. I was stunned, completely and utterly amazed. I just stood there; I couldn't believe what I had heard. She asked for my blessing, and I cleared my throat and uttered the words "I'm happy for you." I wasn't. Of course I wasn't. But I couldn't work up the nerve to tell her.

Two days, 7 hours, and 26 minutes went by before I decided to tell her how I felt for her, that she couldn't marry this Jim or Jack fellow. And it was exactly 18 minutes after that that I chickened out.

I couldn't do it. God help me, I couldn't do it.

She seemed so happy, and who the hell was I to try to take that away from her. I was no one, just an admirer from afar. So I suffered in silence, watching as she planned the wedding and invited coworkers to the "happiest day of her life." And the strange thing is, I was happy for her. Love does that to you. I couldn't have been happier for her, but I was completely miserable for myself.

I even attended the wedding, blender in tow and everything. Seeing her up there, so beautiful, so tender and loving made me happy. Until I watched her say "I do" to another man.: that was the worst day of my life that far. I even considered standing up and objecting like they do in the movies when the preacher asks for objections.

I imagined that I would say "I object because _I_ love this woman more than anything on the planet, more than anyone ever could" and she, of course would say she loved me too, and then everyone would begin to clap, even the newly single groom.

I know you don't believe me, but I told you, I am a dreamer.

But, I forever held my peace.

I held my peace as she slipped the band on his finger with a beautiful smile on her face.

I held my peace as he placed a gorgeous wedding ring on her finger, looking deeply into her eyes.

I held my peace as they gazed into each other's eyes.

I held my peace as she said "I do."

I held my peace as the preacher pronounced them "man and wife."

I held my peace as the preacher announced that Jim Bennett may "kiss the bride."

I held my peace as he lifted her veil and touched her chin.

I held my peace as their lips met, sealing their bond.

I held my peace as the reception began, as they danced together.

I held my peace when she danced with me.

I held my peace as the reception came to a close.

I held my peace as we threw rice at them as they ran towards the limo.

I held my peace as I watched the limo drive away with the love of my life and a sign that read "Just married."

God help me, I held my peace.

Holding my peace nearly killed me, as I wanted so much to shout to the world that I loved her, that I would treat her better than he ever could, that I could make her feel so much more special than he could, that I could be a better man than he could.

But I played my part—the one of a friend, and I held my peace everyday that I saw her thereafter. When she would come to me after miniscule fights, seeking comfort, I would hold her and tell her that things were going to be okay; I swallowed all of my pride and told her that they were meant to be together and that things would work out because they had to.

I lied to her, but it was in the name of love, and in the name of friendship. They weren't meant to be together. I knew it all along, because a love like I felt doesn't just melt away, it's predestined, and I had felt things for her that I never even knew I was capable of feeling.

She would smile, teary-eyed, and thank me for being there, thank me for being such a wonderful friend, and I would accept her thanks, and I was thankful for every moment I was able to have her in my life in any way, shape or form.

And I lay in bed at night pretending that she was next to me, pretending it was me up on that altar instead of Jim Bennett. Pretending that she was my wife, my love, pretending that she loved me and not him.

I knew she didn't—but I couldn't help it. I was happy for her, but still, miserable for me. And it's okay that I pretended, because it got me through the days...

Through all of the days that I held my peace and through all of the nights that I would wish I didn't have to.

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TBC.

Sorry it's rather short, more to come soon, I hope!

Hope you enjoyed!

Natalie


	3. Great unExpectations

**I don't own anything that has any relation to ER (unfortunately, I could use the money).**

**Remember, people, be aware of assumptions. That being said, here is chapter 3 of "Heartbreak: My Story."**

**Enjoy, and review if you find it at all necessary.**

**Natalie**

We've all been told that pain fades and that time can heal all wounds—we've been taught that no matter the feeling, no matter what dreams may come—feelings will fade. Eventually.

But my feelings never faded. In fact, quite the opposite seemed to be true. My feelings grew with each passing day—with every day that I was blessed enough to see her at work, though I knew my time with her would be limited.

Sometimes, though, I felt ashamed of my feelings. I can't lie about it now; after all, it doesn't much matter anymore now what I felt then. Shame was not something I was accustomed to feeling in the slightest—but when I would think of her and smile, when I would think of her and instantly become happy, I felt ashamed. I was fantasizing about a married woman—and there was no part that was right about that.

Except for my love.

My love justified everything in my mind—everything I did, everything I said, and everything I didn't say. I never spoke up because I loved seeing her happy, I loved seeing her smile—I loved seeing her period. And if I were to tell her the dreams of our future that plagued me at night and haunted me during the day—I might be deprived of any of those things.

I know, I know, I seem like a martyr. And in a way, I suppose, that's how I saw myself for a very long time.

My words, my presence, my _feelings_ could have ruined it all. And that's why I kept quiet the way that I did. I could bear to risk making her unhappy in the slightest.

And so I dreamt in silence, and wished in silence—and loved in silence.

And so I didn't see it coming that cold Friday evening in October when she showed up at MY doorstep, saying she had nowhere else to go—no other friends in the city. And I was shocked to see the tears in her eyes because I'd never seen her cry.

I, of course, invited her in, and she complied—she looked so distraught, and I felt a familiar pain in my chest as I watched her sit on my couch with her head in her hands. I asked her what was wrong—and my question brought more tears.

I tried to comfort her, I held her awkwardly in my arms—wanting so much to take the obvious pain away, but not knowing how.

Finally, her tears subsided, as my shushing and gentle strokes to her head helped to calm her down. I had never seen her like this before, and I knew that I never ever wanted to again.

She finally looked at me through tear stained eyes and said the words that baffle and anger me so much to this day.

She told me that Jim had cheated on her.

I was taken aback, that was the last thing I had expected to hear. I immediately felt anger take over my body—and I struggled to control it as I clenched my teeth and my fists in unison. I asked her if she was sure, if it wasn't some misunderstanding.

To which she replied that she'd caught him 'red-handed.' Just the mere thought of her walking in to him with someone else—the man she loved, the man she _thought_ loved her—made me hurt inside.

What an ass this guy was. And I told her so—that did nothing to abate her feelings. I told her he didn't deserve her. He didn't. He didn't deserve an ounce of anything she had to offer. Not one single ounce of it.

I hated him. As wrong as it may have been I hated him with a burning passion. What's more: I wanted to hurt him. Almost more than I'd wanted to hurt anyone ever.

But I didn't. I held back, I somehow stopped myself from hunting him down and beating the crap out of him. Seeing her like that, so broken—I still, to this day, have no idea how I managed to control myself.

She finally fell asleep on my couch and I covered her with a blanket, and sat in the chair adjacent to the couch. For some odd reason, I felt as though I had to protect her—that I had to be right there with her to calm her should she begin to fall apart again. It's silly, I know—but I didn't leave that chair all night. And I didn't sleep save for fifteen minutes here and there when my eyes refused to stay open.

When she woke up the next morning, Saturday, her eyes were puffy and swollen from crying. But she still looked beautiful to me. I made her coffee and scrambled eggs—that's the way she told me she liked her eggs—and I listened to her talk as though nothing had happened, though I saw a different story conveyed in her eyes.

Finally, she could hold it back no longer—and she burst into tears again, saying that she thought he loved her, and that they were going to start a family. I had never felt as helpless as I did then.

There was nothing I could say to ease her pain, nothing I could say that would make it better. So I held her, and I wiped away her tears, and I tried to make things okay.

She stayed at my place for a few days, before she got everything sorted out in her head, and legally. She wasted no time and filed for divorce—she wasn't the type that could stand a man cheating on her. No woman should have to settle for that, least of all, her.

So Jim moved out—he got half, she got half, and that was that. We never heard from him again, and on the rare occasion that his name was brought up by some fluke accident or some idiot at the hospital, the subject was quickly changed, and then forgotten.

She seemingly bounced back rather quickly—she later confessed that things had been falling apart for quite some time, and that she had found a way to cope.

I told her that if she needed to talk, I would be there. And she thanked me and said that she knew that I always had been. Then she told me that she loved me.

Unfortunately, I knew what she meant.

I loved her, too. I always had.

The only way that I showed it was to be there for her during her many midnight calls—during her tearful visits at one in the morning. She was such a strong woman on every front, but sometimes she needed to break down—and I was going to be damned if I wasn't there to help build her back up.

And so though her marriage with Jim had ended—and there were no current men in her life, I still kept my feelings, my hopes, my desires to myself. Because I knew that now was not the time.

I wasn't even sure that there would be a time—sometimes that mattered so much that it hurt. But on the nights when we laughed together, I didn't care one bit about a time for love, because with her, everyday was a time for love.

Every single second of every minute of every day of every month was a time for love, even if it was only in my head.

TBC


	4. It's about that time

Okay: here's the deal—First of all, Romano is thinking in retrospect _after_ this story has taken place. _The whole story_. Meaning when this story comes to an absolute end. Which will in about another two chapters (including this one). Second of all, everyone is bent on the fact that Romano would have told this woman, because 'that's the type of man he is.' Now, normally, I would have to agree. But, when I was thinking about Romano's character, it came to my attention that he was in love with Elizabeth for… how long? And how many times did he come right out and tell her? How many times when she was going on one of her dates with any of the men she was seeing, did he tell her? Never. He told her he was attracted to her, and that's about it—with the exception of pining away in silence. _That_ is the Romano I am writing about.

Anyway, everyone is entitled to their opinion, I can write the 'normal' Romano, but have chosen not to based on what is to happen in this story. Thank you for your opinions though! : ) They are recognized and well-received!

Natalie

**Heartbreak: My Story (Chapter 4)**

The turn of events had confused me so, that I spent the next several months trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do, what I was supposed to do. In my heart of hearts, I knew I had to tell her—I couldn't go on much longer keeping it locked inside.

But the same fear that had stopped me two years ago from telling her as I watched her at the altar presented itself, and for some reason, seemed to magnify.

What would she say? What would she think? On some level, I didn't want to know. Because I couldn't shake the feeling that she would say nothing, think nothing. And I don't know that I could handle that.

It had been nearly a year since she had come to me, teary-eyed, from the events that had taken place, and I knew, as she was a strong woman, she had healed completely. That, and because she told me.

She was no longer vulnerable—she only had been for the first month or so. And I knew that it was time—it had to be now. Soon—or I would never tell her, and go on suffering in silence, the way I always have.

So I sat in my house, and drank some bourbon, and tried to plan out what I was going to say in my head:

'I love you.' Entirely too strong, especially without any explanation beforehand.

'I want you.' That's not the half of it.

'I need you.' True, but too cliché.

I tried all different kinds of confessions, but I couldn't find one that fit. I didn't think that I would, besides, whatever I planned out to say, whatever I came up with would go right out the window the moment I started talking to her.

So I decided to get some rest, because, I'd decided, tomorrow was the big day. I was going to tell her come hell or high-water. I'd waited long enough—and I was going to have to deal with my emotions—and hers—sooner or later. It was late enough, so I chose sooner.

I woke up early, showered, ate a light breakfast, the way I normally do—I was determined not to completely stress over this. Not _completely_. Then, I went to work.

I waited. And I waited, all day long I waited. Until I finally saw the chance to talk to her alone.

I walked into the room where she sat, reading, took a deep breath and cleared my throat. She looked up at me, and smiled. I smiled back.

I said hello, and she replied—we exchanged pleasantries.

Then I told her that I needed to tell her something. Her face took on a concerned look, and she asked me what it was.

I walked over to where she was sitting and joined her. I tried to say it, but it didn't come out. I closed my eyes momentarily and decided that I was going to do this, and I was going to 'be a man' about it.

I looked her in the eyes, and I told her everything. God help me, I told her everything. I told her how I'd loved her since she was married to Jim—how I thought about her everyday… every single thing. I thought briefly, that this might scare her away, but I quickly remembered that she needed to know—she deserved to know _everything_.

When I was finished, she sat in silence for a moment, and I could see the beginning of tears forming in her eyes. I didn't know what type of tears—but they were there.

'You mean, since Jim and I—you've…" she questioned.

I assured her.

'And you never…' she wasn't speaking in complete sentences.

I said no.

'So you still…'

I nodded.

'Why didn't you…'

'Because the timing never seemed right.'

'And it's right now?' she finally got an entire sentence out.

'That depends.'

'On…?'

'Your response.'

She inhaled deeply, the same tears in her eyes as they were before. She took a moment to think, and I knew she wouldn't have an answer for me now. That was entirely understandable.

'I…I need time to think about this.'

'Of course.' I smiled lightly and left the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

I finished the day out, knowing that I had done what I needed to do, but still feeling apprehensive about the entire situation.

I went home, made dinner, sat in my chair and thought. I thought about the three years that I'd known her and the two in a half I'd been in love with her—and it hit me then, that those three years had just culminated in an entire moment.

I thought about Jim. What an idiot he was to have done something as stupid as he did—I thought about her with Jim. How happy she'd looked on their wedding day.

I wanted to make her that happy.

I thought and thought and thought. I was so pensive, in fact, that I almost didn't hear the timid knock at the door.

I opened the door to see her standing there, tears in eyes, though I was certain they weren't the same ones she'd originally possessed.

I opened the door and she came in. I started to speak, but she intervened.

'Look, Robert, I've been thinking so much these past hours, I thought about everything, the first time we met, my wedding, that night I came over here after Jim did what he did…' She paused. 'I didn't know what I felt—or at least I didn't know that I knew what I felt. But after thinking, after reflecting long and hard, I've come to the realization that…'

Shit, here it came.

'That…I…love you, too. And I don't know how or when it happened, but somehow, when I wasn't paying attention, it did. And I'm sorry for making you wait like this, and I'm sorry for every ounce of pain that I caused you…but you just need to know that I didn't know…and, I'm sorry.'

I was completely silent; this isn't what I'd expected. And suddenly a grin broke out on my face, and I walked over to her, took her head in my hands and kissed her.

Our first kiss was wonderfully beautiful, sensual, sweet, and romantic. I had waited so long for this day, and in a way, I never thought that it would arrive. But it had, and I was incredibly happy.

We dated for about six months, when I came to the realization that dating was no longer enough—I wanted to have her for the rest of my life.

I proposed on an evening at the beginning of March—and she accepted the proposal with glee. She smiled at me as I put the ring on her finger, and we walked hand in hand down the streets.

I had never, ever, been so happy.

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TBC

One more chapter left. Review if you want to rant about how he's out of character… or something else—or if, by some chance, you like it… : )

Thanks!

Natalie


	5. Heartbreak

Okay, here's the last chapter.

Natalie

* * *

She said yes. And I had never been so elated. I hadn't been expecting a no, but, then again, I hadn't been expecting a yes. In truth, I don't really know what I had been expecting—but she'd said yes.

Over the next few months, we picked out flowers and designs for the wedding—well, I didn't pick out anything, I let her have everything she wanted. This was her wedding… I had been married to her for a long, long time. I wanted her to have the perfect wedding, because she had already made my life perfect… she had already made me the happiest man on the face of the planet.

We tottered back and forth on a date—and settled on December 30th. We both agreed that we loved the notion of both ending a year together and immediately beginning a new one… and our life together.

It was an experience I had never before had. All of a sudden, I wasn't just talking about the rest of my life, I was planning it. And planning it with the woman of my dreams, no less. It all seemed so surreal to me.

I kept waiting for someone to turn to me and say 'haha, you're on candid camera.' I kept waiting for the catch. I kept waiting for someone to tell me it had all been a cruel joke. I kept waiting for her to realize that she didn't love me. I kept waiting for someone more handsome to come sweep her off her feet. I kept waiting for someone to wake me up from this wonderfully amazing dream I was having.

But none of that happened, and on December 30th, I was faced with the most wonderful reality that I had ever had the good fortune of experiencing.

I stood at the end of the aisle watching the flower girl come down the isle, and I saw the face of a daughter we would someday have together. I watched the bridesmaids come down the aisle and I thought of the friends we would make together.

And, as I stood at the end of the aisle listening to the bridal march, I saw my dreams in an off-white gown come straight at me. Everything I had ever wanted I saw coming straight at me. And the amazing thing of it was, she wasn't running away. No, she was smiling. And that smile lit my heart aflame. I felt something inside, something pull tightly at my heart, and tears came to my eyes.

She stopped in front of me, and I lifted her veil and gazed into her beautiful blue eyes, and everything from then on was a blur. Right up until I said 'I do.' I did. I did, I did, I did.

"You may now kiss the bride." And I did that, too. As I felt the tears roll down her face—happy tears, too, began to flow from my eyes. And I'm not a crying man. But there was something about her… and God knows there was something about that moment that made me want to stay there forever.

We didn't go away on our honeymoon. We just took time off from work to lounge around and enjoy each other's company. On the 31st, we were invited to some New Year's Eve parties, but we decided to stay in.

We spent the day in bed, sleeping every now and then. But mostly, I held her. I held her in my arms to make sure she was real. To make sure I wasn't dreaming. That this all wasn't some figment of my imagination.

And I told her I loved her every chance I got. I'm sure she got annoyed with it at times, but I just had to let her know. And she told me she loved me just as many times… but I never got tired of hearing it.

That night, she decided, impromptu, that she wanted to cook me something for dinner. A late dinner, as it was already ten o'clock.

I told her in wasn't necessary, that we could just order out… but she'd have none of it. She said she wanted to cook me dinner on our first real day as a married couple. She went on and on about the things she made, and I gave in because she was so enthusiastic about it. She just looked so adorably happy.

I told her to write down the ingredients, that I'd go get it. But she said that, too, was unacceptable. Not that she fell into the housewife role or anything, just that only she knew what kind of ingredients to get to make everything just right.

I protested once more, but she wouldn't hear it. She said she was just going to the liquor store across town and that she'd return shortly. I walked her to the door, kissed her again, and told her I loved her. She laughed as she walked to the car and said she loved me too.

I went inside and concentrated on making everything inside perfect. I lit candles all over the house, and set the table perfectly with our new china. I opened a bottle of her favorite wine and poured two glasses and set them on the dining room table. I wanted everything to be picture perfect.

I hung around for awhile, flipped on the TV, and turned it off again. I didn't know what to do.

I started to worry around 10:45, but I talked myself out of it. I rationalized it away. 'The store was crowded', I told myself. 'She had trouble finding the ingredients.' I said.

But at 11:30, I was panicking. She wouldn't have taken so long. She wouldn't have needed an hour and a half. It only took ten minutes to get to the store, and ten minutes back. She said that she wouldn't be that long picking out the ingredients.

At 12:15 I called the police, they told me not to worry, that she was probably fine. Just to wait it out and call if she was still missing in 24 hours.

I called everyone I could think of, all of her friends, my friends, our friends, to see if they had seen her. To see if maybe she had stopped by to wish them a happy new year or something. But no one had seen her. No one had heard from her.

At 12:55, I heard someone knock at the door. I was so relieved… it was her! She had left her house key, and couldn't get in. I raced to the door, smiling. Thank God!

But when I opened the door, it wasn't her. It was two solemn looking police officers. My face fell. My heart constricted.

I stared blankly at them. "Mr. Romano?" One of them said.

"Yes." I answered, meekly.

"Mr. Romano, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but it's your wife. I'm afraid she's been in an accident."

I choked on his words. An accident? "What? Where is she?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Romano, but she didn't make it. She passed away."

I felt the tears spring to my eyes and I didn't care at that moment, I let them fall. Because my entire world, my entire life came crashing down in that moment. In that one moment, everything I was living for disappeared.

The officers mumbled their condolences, but I paid no attention. The minutes seemed like an eternity, as I just sat there, staring into space with tears rolling down my cheeks.

"Mr. Romano?"

I looked at one of the officers. "We need you to come ID the body?"

ID the body? Couldn't this wait? I asked them if it could wait, but they said that it would be better if it were done tonight.

I rode in the back of the police car, motionless. Emotionless. This couldn't be happening. I kept waiting for someone to say "You're on candid camera." Or for someone to wake me up from this awful nightmare.

But no one did. No one said a thing as we reached the morgue. I silently walked from the police car, following the officers inside.

I was led to a small room, and brought inside. The sterility of it all didn't comfort me in the slightest. In fact, I think it made things worse.

But they brought her body out, and I took a deep breath as I prepared for what was to come next. But I wasn't ready.

When they pulled back the sheet, I lost it. I started crying as I brought my face to hers—her face. The beautiful face that hours ago had been full of life. But, now, she laid before me lifeless. Completely lifeless. I wanted to scream, I wanted to yell, I wanted to do anything but sit there and cry. But that's all I could do. I could do nothing else.

I looked up at the coroner, after what seemed like an eternity, and I knew she had the answer she needed. But she also needed me to confirm it verbally.

So, I said through my tears:

"Yes. That's her… That's Elizabeth."

_The End._


End file.
